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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069742">through every window the sun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/pseuds/phantomlistener'>phantomlistener</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Prequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Extra Treat, Fix-It, Force-Sensitive Shmi Skywalker, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Rescue, Shmi Skywalker Lives, Trick or Treat 2020, Tusken Raiders (Star Wars)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:28:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/pseuds/phantomlistener</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Shmi Skywalker was in the hands of the Tusken Raiders for days before the Force nudged Jedi Master Depa Billaba in her direction.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Shmi Skywalker &amp; Depa Billaba</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Trick or Treat Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>through every window the sun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningstar/gifts">shiningstar</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from Mary Oliver's <a href="https://anthologyofhope.wordpress.com/2017/03/19/everything-that-was-broken-mary-oliver/"><i>Everything That Was Broken</i></a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">A cool hand on her forehead roused Shmi from near-unconsciousness.</p><p class="western">She'd been dreaming of running water, of soft silken sheets and fruit that tasted like honey exploding into sweetness on her tongue, and she whimpered at the intrusion, pain rolling over her - the thick ropes digging deep into the chafed skin at her wrists, the pain throbbing and aching in her limbs. It must have been part of her dream, that gentle hand, cool skin against her temples that couldn't belong to any Tusken Raider. Couldn't be real.</p><p class="western">She forced her eyes open, winced as her sand-caked lashes cracked apart – and maybe she hadn't been hallucinating because someone <em>was </em>there: a woman, beautiful and dark-eyed with soft brown skin and two jewels set into her forehead that caught and glimmered in the faint light. “What-” <em>What are you doing</em>, she wanted to say –<em> they'll take you too, go, leave me! –</em> but her parched throat caught on the first word</p><p class="western">“Shhhh.” The woman raised a finger to dark painted lips, and then those cool hands were at her wrists, her ankles, making expert work of the heavy knots that bound her to the wooden frame. “I'm here to help.”</p><p class="western">The ropes fell to the ground and Shmi would have fallen with them were it not for the surprising strength of the woman catching her. She held Shmi upright as her knees buckled, and her dark eyes filled with concern. “Lean on me,” she whispered, settled one arm firmly around her waist, and Shmi winced but draped her aching arm across the woman's shoulders, let herself be led. Whoever this was, whatever her motive, it couldn't be worse than just waiting to die. </p><p class="western">The first step was agony, stabbing through previously numb feet and putting pressure on muscles that felt ready to snap in two, but she refused to die here, now, like this, helpless and anonymous. She took one step, then another, letting the woman - her <em>saviour - </em>half-carry her to the entrance of the tent. They paused just before the entrance, hidden behind the loosely-tied canvas, and the woman tilted her head as if she was listening to something, her eyes fluttering closed. Shmi felt a stirring of <em>something</em> just outside her perception, like a ripple in the water just beyond the reach of her vision.</p><p class="western">The woman frowned, glanced at her briefly; outside, the guttural chatter of the Tusken Raiders intensified. It was coming slowly but surely towards the tent. They checked on her (beat her, said the part of her mind not yet numb to it) five or six times a day, and it had been- well, long enough to drift into unconsciousness, dream of a life she'd never had and never would. They were coming for her again. “I'm sorry,” said the woman, and something deep in her eyes made Shmi believe her. “I'm going to have to leave you here a moment.” She pressed a sturdy knife into her hand, small but long enough to do some serious damage, then a skin of water. “Drink this and keep your head down.”</p><p class="western">As if she was capable of doing anything else, limbs on fire with the sudden rush of blood back through her veins, the wound on her head pounding as if she'd been trampled by a fully-grown bantha. The woman lowered her to the ground and strode forcefully from the tent before Shmi could even cry out in warning – <em>they'll kill you, stay hidden, what are you </em>doing – and she pressed an eye to the thin gap between two pieces of canvas, flinching as her vision adjusted to the bright light of the desert beneath twin suns. The raiders were already circling her, crowding round in a tight circle and jabbing at her with their their gaderffii.</p><p class="western"><em>Playing</em> with her.</p><p class="western">Shmi released a shuddering breath, felt her fragile belief in a way out begin to dissolve with it. To have lost hope, and found it again, and then to have it taken away-</p><p class="western">Something tugged at her mind, drew her eyes back to the gap in the canvas, and as she watched the woman raised her hand, made a sharp twisting gesture with her head bowed in concentration-</p><p class="western">-and the very sand around her began to lift up from the desert floor. Shmi watched in amazement as it twisted into a whirlwind, spinning faster and faster until there was no more than a blurred figure in the centre. The Tusken Raider warriors looked from one to another, shifting to a defensive grip on their gaderffii.</p><p class="western">The whirling sand moved slowly outwards from the woman at its centre. It was more than a sandstorm: Shmi had encountered plenty of those, both safely sheltered in Mos Espa and exposed to their full fury out on the moisture farm, knew deep in her bones how the air felt before and after the storm. Everyone on Tatooine knew how to fashion a crude face shield out of whatever clothing they had to hand, a filtered breather if they had the parts.</p><p class="western">But this wasn't a sandstorm.</p><p class="western">The lethal wall of sand hit the Tusken Raiders, and not a hair on Shmi's head so much as moved in the still air.</p><p class="western">The raiders fell to the ground, screaming, and the canvas of the tent was unmoving, not even a breeze rippling its surface.</p><p class="western">Again that prickling sensation, just too far away to comprehend, tugged at Shmi's mind. The whirlwind of sand roared in her head.</p><p class="western">She cried out.</p><p class="western">As if in response, the woman lowered her hands, and the sand fell quiet and still back to the ground.</p><p class="western">The others – the Tusken women, the children – peered out from tents similar to the one that Shmi was hidden in, and the woman turned in a deliberate circle, a metal cylinder clasped loosely in her hand. Shmi recognised it as a weapon, identified it with the honed practice of years spent searching for diamonds amongst piles of rust as Watto's slave. Recognised it too from the belts of those who had taken her son, her beautiful Ani, and delivered him into the sort of life she would never have been able to provide. </p><p class="western"><em>Jedi</em>.</p><p class="western">Her heart leaped unbidden. The woman made a sharp gesture with her free hand, one Shmi recognised as Tusken sign language.</p><p class="western">The remaining raiders scattered into the desert, and the woman came back into the tent. “Sorry about that.” She pushed her intricate braids back over her shoulders, barely out of breath despite the impossible spectacle she had just conjured, and made a wry bow. “Jedi Master Depa Billaba, at your service. Can you walk?”</p><p class="western">“I can try,” she croaked. Her throat was still sore but the water had helped, and she accepted the offered hand gratefully and struggled to her feet, legs stiff from days tied up without movement. “Did you kill them?”</p><p class="western">Master Billaba looked dispassionately back at the fallen heap of raider bodies. “Jedi try to avoid killing wherever possible.”</p><p class="western">That was emphatically <em>not</em> an answer. But the woman had just saved her life, had shown more mercy to the women and children than any of the local moisture farmers would have done. She didn't dare tell her that the women had been just as complicit in her torture as the men. Neither they nor the children had accepted defeat, she knew, had just fallen back to regroup and call for aid. “The rest of them won't stay away long,” she said, wincing at the way her voice sounded, raw and cracked. “Do you have a way out?”</p><p class="western">“Luckily for you,” Master Billaba said, taking most of Shmi's weight as they walked out of the tent, “my speeder has room for two. Where should I take you?”</p><p class="western"> </p>
<hr/><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The homestead was on fire.</p><p class="western">No, Shmi realised with bizarre clarity. It had already <em>been </em>on fire, and now the low rounded house that allowed access to the underground rooms lay blackened and smoking, debris scattered all around. Nobody was rushing out to meet them.</p><p class="western">She'd heard a fight, the first day she'd been in the Tusken Raider camp, heard familiar voices and felt her husband – <em>her Cliegg –</em> like a sharp silver presence in the distance, burning with rage and determination. And then the silver had gone from her mind, and the truth had whispered in her heart, and she'd known.</p><p class="western">She'd tried to deny it, but she'd known.</p><p class="western">Now, looking down at the burned remains of the only place she had ever felt truly safe, she knew she had been right.</p><p class="western">Turning her face away, she clung to Master Billaba, buried her face against robes that smelled of smoke and dust and hot sand, and she didn't know if Jedi even believed in hugs, but she'd sent her son to them, and she had to believe that he was cared for.</p><p class="western">The Jedi Master stiffened in surprise but relaxed quickly, enfolding Shmi in a gentle embrace that somehow avoided aggravating the worst of her injuries. “It's okay,” she said, in a surprisingly gentle voice. “You're safe now.”</p><p class="western">Full of guilt and relief, Shmi laid her head on the woman's shoulder and wept. The tentative embrace holding her up became more certain, and Master Billaba's hand stroked up and down her arm with a tenderness she had only ever known from her husband – her husband, who was beyond all doubt lying dead somewhere in pursuit of her. She sobbed harder, clung to the woman with the meagre strength that remained to her, and hoped that they had held her little Ani like this, too, when he had been small and afraid and alone, comforted him with soft embraces and empathy.</p><p class="western">She lifted her head, almost ashamed, but Master Billaba was looking at her with sympathy. “How long did they hold you captive?” she asked.</p><p class="western">Shmi considered it, tried to remember the rising and setting of Tatooine's twin suns since she had awoken bound to the wooden frame that she had thought would be her resting place. “I'm not sure. Two, maybe three days?”</p><p class="western">The Jedi looked grim. “And those who took you-”</p><p class="western">“I was foolish,” Shmi said softly. She took a step back but kept Master Billaba's hand in hers, sure she wouldn't mind. “I shouldn't have gone out alone. How...how did you find me?”</p><p class="western">“I was in the area,” she replied. The vagueness was obviously deliberate, and an image flashed into Shmi's mind: a thread, vibrant purple, tugging Master Billaba towards Tatooine.</p><p class="western">Again, that curious look.</p><p class="western">“Master-”</p><p class="western">The Jedi raised a hand to stop her, something sparking in her eyes that Shmi could tell wasn't directed at her. “Call me Depa,” she said. “Please.”</p><p class="western">And then she asked the question that had been trembling on her lips ever since she'd realised who – <em>what – </em>her saviour was. “<em>Depa</em> – do you know my son? Is he safe?”</p><p class="western">Depa turned a curious look on her. “Your son?”</p><p class="western">“Anakin,” Shmi said, her heart so full of hope, “Anakin Skywalker.”</p><p class="western">The Jedi's lips quirked in what was obviously an involuntary response, whether in shock or amusement Shmi couldn't tell, but whatever feeling had initially risen was soon banished in favour of a frown. She seemed to be considering something, looking down at the smoking remains of what had once been Shmi's home, fingers laced together in front of her robes.</p><p class="western">Eventually, Master Billaba turned to her. “What I am about to say is...<em>unusual</em> ,” she said, and her cool fingers swept Shmi's half-escaping hair back behind her ear with dispassionate grace. “You have to understand that we do not – <em>cannot – </em>permit attachments. But your son is alive and well, and I believe he would benefit from-”</p><p class="western">Something huge and weighty swelled in Shmi's heart, a feeling of <em>rightness</em> that swept out from her body and into the smoky air. She imagined it travelling out of the atmosphere, past Tatooine's suns and in to the cold darkness of space, reaching out with golden tendrils towards her boy.</p><p class="western">Master Billaba looked sharply at her. “Would you like to see him?” she asked.</p><p class="western">Heart in her throat, Shmi nodded.</p>
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